


Hold On Tight, It’s a Bumpy Ride

by Rena



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rena/pseuds/Rena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles freezes mid victory dance when he’s met with the most judgmental stare he’s ever been at the receiving end of – and that includes all the loathing grimaces he’s put on Harris’ face as well as all the times Lydia has looked at him like he’s worth less than an insect she could stamp to death with one of her fabulous stilettos, which is her default expression.<br/>It’s somewhat intimidating, despite his experience with this. It doesn’t help that the glare comes from the most gorgeous person he’s ever set his eyes upon – and that, too, includes Lydia. </p>
<p>Or the one in which Stiles sees Derek on the bus to work every day and starts to fall for him, but nothing happens until the day he literally falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On Tight, It’s a Bumpy Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [decideophobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/gifts), [hoechlined](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hoechlined).



> Inspired by [this post](http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/64385285313)

 

Whenever Stiles tells someone that his favourite part of his day is the bus ride to work in the morning, everyone looks at him like he’s a crazy person. Which is not an incorrect assumption in itself, but he is convinced that people would be far less judgmental if only they ever came across the reason he loves driving to the office an hour before he actually needs to be there.

He’s told Scott about it. In vivid detail and with an amount of enthusiasm he didn’t know he could bring up for anyone or anything that wasn’t related to food, video games, or one Lydia Martin. Scott still hasn’t stopped looking at him incredulously, with a faint trace of worry in his puppy eyes. In fact, Stiles suspects he’s thinking about making a call to have balding men with straitjackets come pick him up and figure out what kind of pod person his best friend has been replaced by.

Stiles doesn’t blame him for being confused. After all, Scott has never known Stiles to voluntarily get up before midday; he took afternoon classes in college whenever possible, bitched his way through high school, the occasional early class and has yet to stop complaining about getting up early to get into work like a normal, functional, reliable adult. Seeing Stiles getting up an hour earlier than he has to, _by choice_ , must seem to him like the end of the world is near.

It all starts with a simple mistake.

Stiles will always be the first person to admit that while he’s now twenty-three, with a steady job, the ability to mostly fend for himself and fill out tax forms, he’s not always the most grown-up person. He forgets to make appointments at the dentist. He doesn’t remember bringing Roscoe in for his biennial vehicle emission inspection unless his dad tells him to a thousand times, and he’s really glad he doesn’t actually have to transfer the rent every month, because he’d forget about that, too. Thank God for direct debit.

All things considered, it’s not a surprise he forgets about the end of daylight saving time. It’s not all that essential to his everyday life, and he never understood why that shit existed anyway, so he cannot be blamed for missing it, right? Especially when he spent Saturday night partying, and sleeping most (okay, like, all) of Sunday, nursing his massive hangover and only leaving the bed to stagger to the bathroom.

So, the point. The point is, Stiles misses the clocks being turned back one hour, and when his cell phone blares the next Monday morning, making him flail and fall out of bed, he gets up, grumbles, takes a shower, gets dressed, and rushes down to take the bus.

He doesn’t even notice anything being off until he gets on the bus, which is weirdly quiet and significantly less crowded than usually. It’s not like he’s complaining that he can actually, you know, sit down for the first time in probably ever. Stiles likes people, likes being surrounded by them, likes crowds. He does _not_ enjoy being forced to perfect his impersonation of a sardine stuck between sweaty, stinking business men every morning. No sane person ever would.

However, even the joy about getting a seat dies a quick death. Stiles freezes mid victory dance when he’s met with the most judgmental stare he’s ever been at the receiving end of – and that includes all the loathing grimaces he’s put on Harris’ face as well as all the times Lydia has looked at him like he’s worth less than an insect she could stamp to death with one of her fabulous stilettos, which is her default expression.

It’s somewhat intimidating, despite his experience with this. It doesn’t help that the glare comes from the most gorgeous person he’s ever set his eyes upon – and that, too, includes Lydia. The guy who’s staring at him totally has the Tall, Dark and Broody thing working for him, with a clear-cut jawline, just the right amount of stubble and piercing eyes and thick, frowny eyebrows that would look ridiculous on anyone else but fit perfectly onto his face. And damn, unlike Stiles, this guy clearly has money. There’s no ill-fitted, off-the-rack suit; that thing was clearly tailored, and Stiles can almost see his washboard abs through his button-down shirt.

Hot diggity!

Stiles maybe swoons a little. It takes all his self-control to not lick his lips and walk over to the guy to ask him out. He might’ve, if he hadn’t feared he would end up dead in a ditch. He likes living dangerously, but he has no death wish.

So ends up sliding into his seat with his head down and inconspicuously ogling the guy the entire bus ride, and maybe almost misses his stop because he’s too lost in daydreams about that delicious biceps. The guy is definitely laughing at him when he realises his mistake, shrieks and squeezes through the already shutting bus doors in a flurry.

It’s only when he enters the eerily quiet building that he realises the time and curses everyone and their mother for his own stupidity.

Erica laughs at him for ten minutes straight when he tells her the story because she’s an evil person who enjoys other people’s pain. She does get him an extra coffee from Starbucks, though, so he forgives her.

He ends up taking the earlier bus every day after that.

.

The problem is, Tall, Dark and Broody is on the bus every single day. Well, no, that’s not the problem. That’s the blessing. The problem is that they don’t talk; they never even exchanged a word. Stiles said ‘hi’ the second time he got on the earlier bus, but barely got a nod of acknowledgment and an amused look in return, which kind of killed his daring to flirt.

He’d really like to say that it’s enough just being able to be a spectator of the gloriousness that is this man, like it was mostly enough to watch Lydia be fabulous and feel happy about it, but the truth is, it’s not. It’s not enough. Watching the guy is good, of course, it’s a freaking GQ model come to life, only _better_ and even more beautiful, but it almost causes him physical pain that he’s not allowed to touch.

He just wants into TDB’s pants, Goddammit. And into his bed, and his life. He actually catches himself fantasising about lazy weekend mornings, snuggling up in front of a fireplace in winter, spending holidays together. When he realises he doesn’t just want to have sex, he actually wants to date TDB, Stiles knows it’s time to go see a therapist again. He doesn’t even know the guy’s _name_.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Erica says irritably. “Just ask him out.”

“I can’t,” Stiles wails, clawing at his face. “He’ll tear me limb from limb.”

“Lydia did that, too, every time you made an innuendo around her or asked her on a date,” Erica points out. “That didn’t stop you.”

“That was different,” Stiles argues.

“No it wasn’t.” She squints at him. “Oh God, are you in love with him?”

Stiles grimaces. “It’s possible I want to marry him and want to have his biologically impossible babies.”

“Oh God,” Erica says again. It takes quite a bit to throw her off her groove. Stiles is almost proud. Almost.

“I’m kind of disturbed right now,” she tells him.

“You and me both,” Stiles assures her.

“Ask him out,” Erica tells him again. “If he says no, I’ll let you cry into a bottle of tequila and you can stop dragging your ass out of bed at ungodly hours in the morning.”

“Tequila is the best cure for heartbreak.” Stiles nods approvingly. “But I want ice cream, too.”

“Done.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’ll stock up today. But only this once, Stilinski.”

“You don’t even know if you’ll need it!”

Erica snorts.

Stiles groans. “I take it all back. You’re the worst.”

.

In the end, nothing goes as planned.

When Stiles gets on the bus the next Friday, perfect strategy in mind and a speech ready, he sees TDB sitting in his usual place, staring out of the window into the heavy rain. If he’s aware of Stiles’ presence, he doesn’t show it. To be honest, he hasn’t acknowledged Stiles’ existence since the second day, so it’s likely he’s forgotten about him entirely, despite him being one of the only ten people who regularly take this bus.

Stiles is halfway down the aisle, only a few steps away from reaching TDB, when the bus swerves unexpectedly and violently and sends Stiles toppling forward and then sideways, and before he can reach for something to hold onto, before he even really knows what’s happening, he looks up and finds himself sprawled across TDB’s lap.

He’s torn between being relieved and disappointed that he didn’t actually faceplant into his crotch.

TDB stares at him with wide eyes, and Stiles flinches. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he begins to stammer and awkwardly tries to find his balance again. He does a better job at getting to his feet once a strong, broad hand curls around his arm and steadies him.

“Are you alright?” Jesus, TDB’s voice is smooth like honey, and it goes straight to Stiles’ groin. He’s also looking at Stiles with genuine concern, eyes flitting over his body checking for injuries, like he actually cares. It does things to Stiles’ stomach. Pleasant things.

“I –“ Stiles clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Sorry for squashing you.” He almost adds ‘you’d make a really comfortable cushion’, but he bites his tongue just in time. He’s probably embarrassed himself enough in front of this guy to last him a lifetime.

TDB opens his mouth to answer, but just then the driver hits the breaks, and TDB barrels into Stiles. He has a vision of bashing his skull in on the floor of a small, dirty bus and spends a panicked second mourning that this is the uncoolest death ever and that the only nice thing about it will be TDB sprawled over him, and he won’t even get to enjoy it because he’ll be _dead **.**_

Except, miraculously, he doesn’t fall. Somehow, TDB manages to get a hold of the nearest holding bar and wrap his other arm around Stiles’ waist before he plummets to the ground.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, because a) what the fuck is wrong with this fucking bus driver today and b) TDB is strong. Like really strong. Super strong. Stiles can feel the abs through where he’s pressed flush again the other man, and he can see the muscles in his arms strain as he keeps them upright and on their feet.

He also has really beautiful eyes whose colour Stiles can’t define even when they’re only a few inches from his own face.

The bus comes to a halt, thankfully, and TDB doesn’t let go of him immediately. Which, to be honest, might have something to do with Stiles clinging to him like a spider monkey, but Stiles might be crazy, but he’s not _blind_. He sees TDB’s eyes flicker down to his mouth before snapping up again as he seems to realise what he’s doing. It’s only then that he drops his hand, squares his shoulders and steps back, face flushing bright red the moment he becomes aware that Stiles noticed him looking.

“I apologise,” he says stiffly. “I didn’t –“

“Go out with me,” Stiles splutters.

“I – come again?” TDB asks, taken aback, and Stiles really needs to learn his name so he can stop using stupid abbreviations. Also so that he can scream the right name in bed.

“Go out with me,” Stiles repeats. “Tonight. If possible, tomorrow as well. Maybe for the rest of our lives?”

“I – “ TDB stares, and then says, dumbly, “this is your stop.”

Stiles almost pumps his fist in the air, because that means he has been noticing him. He knows where Stiles gets off. He’s _interested._ “I don’t need to be in for another hour,” Stiles says. That’s plenty of time to exchange numbers and walk back from the next stop and still get his daily caffeine fix first. Even then, he’ll be bored. He might have time to squeeze in an impromptu jerk off session in the men’s bathroom considering no one’s at the firm yet.

TDB swallows. “Our opening hours don’t start for another hour and a half,” he says tentatively. And then, “I have my own office, with shutters, in the unlikely case of someone else coming in early.” And that is definitely a come on. You can’t word an offer much more bluntly without actually saying ‘do you want to have hot office sex with me?’.

“Perfect,” Stiles determines.

.

Stiles learns that Derek is a really good name to scream himself hoarse with as they fuck over Derek’s desk, and then again in his chair.

Afterwards, they take a look at themselves in the bathroom mirror and decide wordlessly that they’re way too dishevelled and fucked out to be presentable, so they both end up calling in sick, steal their way out of the building before any of Derek’s colleagues can see them and spend the weekend christening every room of Derek’s apartment.

Stiles tells him the truth about why he used to take the early bus after a month of dating. Derek laughs so hard Stiles is kind of afraid he’ll rupture his spleen or something before kissing him breathless and showing him just how much he appreciates Stiles’ idiocy; it’s totally worth the initial embarrassment.

 


End file.
